


One Glance (and the Avalanche Drops)

by LadyNimrodel



Series: Reincarnation [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Different lifetimes, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Reincarnation, Some f/f, Soul Bond, my excuse to write a soul mate fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNimrodel/pseuds/LadyNimrodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m Harry Hart,” the man says but that isn’t what Eggsy hears. He hears, “I’ve found you again.”</p><p>He hears, “We don’t have to wait until the next life.”</p><p>He hears, “We haven’t missed each other after all.”</p><p> </p><p>-or- Eggsy and Harry have known each other for many lifetimes. This is just one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Glance (and the Avalanche Drops)

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me when I listened to Walk the Moon's song Avalanche. Which is gorgeous and you should listen to it while you read this because it's really amazing. Also I sort of borrowed some of their lyrics for the beginning, whoops. 
> 
> This is to be the first of several stories with the soulmate concept. While I will explore other pairings from different fandoms, I am definitely going to add to this fic. 
> 
> Also, all of the characters in the italicized sections are Harry and Eggsy, just in different lifetimes. I will put a chart in the notes at the end so everyone can keep them straight. 
> 
> Enjoy!

You got a look in your eyes  
I knew you in a past life  
One glance and the avalanche drops  
One look and my heartbeat stops  
Ships pass in the night  
I don't wanna wait 'til the next life  
One glance and the avalanche drops  
One look and my heartbeat stops

-Walk the Moon

**

One look and his heart beat stops. 

One look is all it takes. 

What he sees: an older gentleman in a suit that clearly costs more money than Eggsy’s ever seen in his entire life, with dark glasses and neat, wavy hair,. What he sees: a small smile curling at the corners of the man’s lips, a black umbrella he casually leans against, shoes shiny in the sunlight. What he sees: broad shoulders and a slim waist, legs that go on for miles, a handsome man with a voice like the smoothest fucking glass of whisky. 

What he knows: this has been a long time coming. 

“I’m Harry Hart,” the man says but that isn’t what Eggsy hears. He hears, “I’ve found you again.”

He hears, “We don’t have to wait until the next life.”

He hears, “We haven’t missed each other after all.”

One look is all it takes. 

One look and he knows he’s found the other half of his soul. 

**

They always remember their past selves. Not in any great detail, mind, but the memories are there. He can recall who he used to be, each life, each name a vague inclination at the back of his mind. And then he meets Harry and vague memory becomes a riot of color and detail. They fill in, momentarily overwhelm him, like black ink spilled onto a white page and he knows. 

Sometimes it happens that they live entire lives and never find each other. Those lives get lost, consumed by the vortex of death and endless memories. But the ones where they do find each other, oh yes, they remember those. His mother, when he was very young and his father was still alive, used to tell him stories about things she recalled. A great wall being built, drums in darkness, fire sweeping away an entire city, a spear in her hand and a sword at her hip. And always, the memory of his father was present. He was her soul-bind. 

Losing him was crushing but Eggsy knows she is waiting. Waiting until next time. 

Eggsy has his own set of memories. They aren’t jumbled. Not like normal memories usually are, like that time he went to the country with his parents on vacation in the Lake District or when he stole his first car at the tender age of twelve. The memories kept by a soul-bind are shining things, like gems plucked out of time and forever burning. Eggsy remembers soaring columns of a temple and a voice like a plucked harp-cord. He remembers racing along on the back of a golden horse, white mane catching on his lips and large hands on his hips, a laugh rumbling like thunder in his ears. He remembers a huge open room decorated with flowing tapestries and silken cloths, filled with a sweet fragrance and slim fingers sliding between his thighs, hot black eyes burning into him. He remembers a field, golden and ripe, and a gentleman watching him from the road astride a great black horse, watching him labor in the sun.

He also remembers a heavy weight in his arms of a stolen statue made of gold (priceless) and a voice (furious and betrayed) calling after him. He remembers a long, muddy trench and black skies that seem to be falling down around his ears with gunfire all around him like rain and blood under his hands while blue eyes look up at him, already glazed in death. He remembers a beheading, choking in silken finery and suffocating on his grief. He remembers a heavy sword in his hand and another jutting out of his chest while the woman who put in there adds her tears to his blood. He remembers a hand holding his, another body curled against his own as they burn together. 

But mostly he remembers him. He remembers Harry in every form that he was, tall and golden, small and dark, a fiery viking valkyrie, a Chinese handmaiden, a soldier, a gentleman. He remembers Harry as Evariste, as Faolan, as Cato, as Chao-xing, as Eydis. 

He remembers. And so does Harry. 

They stand on the steps of the police station, staring at each other for long moments as their memories catch up, mingle, become complete. Eggsy can only remember all of each memory when he is with Harry. 

And then Harry smiles, a smile that Eggsy has known through all the ages, and says, “My dear boy, I was quite sure this life would be a lonely one.” Heart light and warm, Eggsy jams his hands into his pockets and gives Harry a lopsided grin.

“Not a chance, old man,” he returns, cheeky, confident, fucking elated, “Not a fucking chance.” 

**  
_A seagull circles in the sky, buoyed by a stiff, cold wind coming in off the sea. The waves are white flashes of brilliance amidst the black water and they hiss and roar as they crash into the dark rocks a long distance below his feet. The grey of the sky reflects drearily on the water and he misses the sun. Misses the color blue. He misses summer and warmth and dry clothes, for fucks sake._

_What he wouldn’t give for a dry tunic._

_With a grimace and mud squelching wetly under his feet, he turns away from the cliff edge. There would be no scaling down the slick stone steps to the beach today. Not with the tide swollen from the storm blowing in. It is a good thing he had a good haul just the other day. He and his sister can get by for another day or two. Perhaps he can get Hagen to set up an extra trap or two tomorrow. Rabbit sounds rather good right about now._

_Gael gathers up his nets and sets off, back towards a warm fire and dry furs. It starts raining after he is under the relative safety of the trees, a soft, humming patter on the leaves and cold water dripping into his hair. Empty nets and rain are terrible omens, he thinks miserably and he is so caught up in his grumbling complaints of the weather, he collides with someone who appears suddenly from around the side of a large, gnarled tree. Gael gets a glimpse of wide blue eyes before he crashes into what is surely a stone wall and is dumped unceremoniously on his ass. His nets scatter in the wet leaves and instantly his trousers are soaked through. Fucking wonderful._

_“You clumsy oaf, what do you think…” he starts, moving to pick himself off the wet ground and then there is a broad hand in his face, open and clearly meant to help him up, and all of his curses die in his throat. Surprised, he follows the offered hand, up a strong arm covered in blue, swirling tattoos to a pair of warm blue eyes._

_And he was just saying he missed the color blue, wasn’t he?_

_“I apologize,” the man says and Gael nods stupidly, lets himself be pulled to his feet. All complaints of being cold and wet disappear, becomes completely insignificant._

_“Figures this is how I’d meet you,” he blurts out, stunned. Only he would meet his Fated by literally running into him. Their hands are warm where they cling together, callouses against Gael’s skin. The man tips his dark head, long hair spilling over his broad shoulders, and a smile curls on his lips._

_“How do you mean?” he asks and even his voice is wonderful. Gael thinks he is one lucky bastard. He makes a note to thank the gods for giving him such a lovely Fated._

_“I mean…” he laughs breathlessly, “I don’t know what I mean, actually,” gods, he sounds so stupid but his Fated doesn’t seem to mind. He is smiling warmly and he refuses to let go of Gael’s hand, even when he tugs half-heartedly at it._

_“I’m Faolan,” he says, taking a step closer and Gael is suddenly warm all over. He quite forgets what it’s like being cold, actually._

_“Gael,” he answers, voice gone rough and he thinks maybe he’ll be warm for the rest of his life. No need for fires and furs anymore. Strong fingers slide into his hair, pulls him close so their foreheads can touch._

_Around them the rain falls and the world is grey and dreary but Gael sees brilliant, riotous color._

**

“We met before, once,” Harry says over a tall glass of Guinness, brown eyes intent on Eggsy’s face. He likes the color of them. Dark with a ring of gold at the edges. They are warm and intelligent and intense, “You were only eight. I did not think you would recognize me.” Eggsy’s eyebrows shoot up. He knows there was an important man he met once, remembers long, gentle fingers taking a tiny world out of his hands and creating a storm, remembers a comforting voice and the jarring scrape of his mother’s sobs. 

“You knew my dad,” he says slowly, touches the necklace he keeps hidden under his shirt. Keep it safe. Harry’s eyes watch him, “If you knew about me, why didn’t you find me sooner?” he asks, finding it strange. 

“I did know your dad. He saved my life,” there is a flicker of regret that darkens Harry’s face but it is gone as soon as it appears, “And I wasn’t sure. You were very young and I already in my late twenties,” to which Eggsy snorts because when it comes to a soul-bind, age means nothing. Harry lifts an eyebrow and takes another slow sip of his beer, “And I have a job that I must travel for frequently. I thought it best to give you space.” Eggsy shakes his head. 

“You was noble once before, Harry. We both remember how that turned out,” if there is a hard edge to his voice, well, he can hardly be blamed. He will be angry about that for centuries. Harry remains unruffled but Eggsy isn’t fooled, “You weren't going to find me, neither, were you. That’s what you meant before, back at the station,” fuck, if they had missed each other again…

He breaks that thought off before it can get away from him. 

“Honestly, I didn’t know I would be alive this long,” Harry admits with a small grimace. His thumb taps against the condensation on his glass and Eggsy watches a drop of water roll down the smooth surface. His own beer sits untouched in front of him. 

“All that travelin’ dangerous, then?” he demands because he doesn’t like that answer at all. Harry presses his lips together unhappily. 

“You could say that,” to which Eggsy sighs and folds his arms over his chest. 

“What else could I say, Harry? What could possibly be a good reason that you would deliberately…” Eggs shakes his head, cutting himself off. This is not how he wants to start this, getting into an argument with Harry. The man bows his head for a moment, forehead wrinkled with a frown and the next time their eyes meet, he is collected again. It’s eery and Eggsy hates it immediately. 

“I gave you that necklace,” Harry points out, “and the code words. I was…waiting for your call.” Waiting, he says. Waiting. That’s what they always do. Until the moment they turn their heads and their eyes meet. Until they find each other again. 

“I guess you don’t give that to everyone whose fathers were killed, then?” to which Harry snorts. 

“Hardly. No one outside of our…company should know that,” his eyes are sharp as they study Eggsy and he can’t help the flicker of warmth that curls in his chest. Annoyed as he is that Harry distanced himself for nearly fifteen years, he’s sitting in front of Eggsy now and that is more than he had this morning, “I do owe your father a great deal but even with that, I would not have just given you the codewords if you were not…important.” Eggsy hides his grin behind his beer glass, taking a fortifying sip. 

“Good to know,” he finally says. All this time, he just had to call the number and say three words. And he could have had Harry even sooner. Somehow, though, it feels right that it happened like this. Eggsy settles back on the bench and studies Harry’s expensive suit, the neat cut of his hair and the glasses perched on his nose and likes what he sees. He always does but that isn’t the point, “So what is this company you work for then?” Harry gives him a wry smile. 

“Sorry, Eggsy, I’m afraid that’s classified,” which, of course, only piques Eggsy’s curiosity. 

“Even if my dad died for it?” he tries and earns himself an exasperated head shake. 

“It isn’t only my secret to tell, unfortunately,” and Eggsy believes him. Harry sounds appropriately apologetic so he decides to accept that answer. For now. They have kept some pretty dark secrets from each other before but he suspects this isn’t that kind of secret. So what if Harry works for some super-secret, highly classified organization? He tells himself it has no bearing on what the rest of their lives will play out like. This isn't the same as Eggsy already being married by the time he found Harry and deciding not to tell him. Or when Harry murdered Eggsy’s brother when his brother tried to keep them apart. 

Those were the kind of secrets that broke them. He hopes this secret doesn’t go the way those did.

They are interrupted by Rottweiler and his greasy gang of thugs and Eggsy realizes that maybe, after stealing Rott’s car and wrecking it, the Black Prince was not the smartest place to bring Harry. Eggsy tells him to go because fuck if he is going to watch Harry get hurt and devours the slim line of his waist as he gets up and walks calmly to the door. I’ll see him again, Eggsy tells himself as he is left behind. It isn’t over. They are only at their beginning. 

Of course, he doesn’t count on Poodle opening his stupid fat mouth and calling Eggsy a rent boy. He winces when he sees the tiny hitch in Harry’s step. 

Fuck. 

Eggsy feels sick when Harry locks the door, sliding the bolts home with sharp, final clicks that ring loud in the suddenly still room. His fingernails bite into his palms when Harry says, “Manners. Maketh. Man,” like it means something important. Means something more than the words themselves suggest. “Do you know what that means?” he asks the room in general but the words feel like they are meant for Eggsy alone. He needs not answer, even if he feels compelled to, because next Harry is saying, “Then let me show you,” and hooks the handle of his umbrella around a nearby glass of leftover whisky and knocks Rottweiler out with it. 

Flat on his back. Out like a fucking light. 

Eggsy stares. 

Everyone stares. 

Stares at Harry as he steps back into the middle of the room, still all relaxed confidence, a smirk curling on his lips. He knows this Harry. This Harry is Eydis, all wild blond hair and snarl on her face as she wields a sword soaked in enemy blood. This Harry is Cato, the Roman soldier bred for war. Tahatan, a hunter and warrior known far and wide for his skill with a bow. Charles, cold and exacting and unmatched with a gun. As a punch is thrown and Harry starts to move, Eggsy realizes that maybe this is the most deadly he’s ever seen him. 

Every move he makes is efficient and graceful. He lays out Dean’s men with an ease Eggsy never knew was possible. Down they go, like struck bowling pins so that by the time Rottweiler pulls out a gun, Eggsy isn’t even concerned. 

What is a gun against that kind of barely-leashed violence?

What is a bullet compared to all that beauty?

He has seen Harry standing triumphant over many battlefields and the feeling that clenches in his chest, tight and full, is always novel and overwhelming. To be fair, the inside of a tavern is hardly a battlefield and Dean’s goons are certainly not the equivalent of an army. But seeing Harry move like that makes him think he can certainly level an army if he has the mind to. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Harry says wryly as he sits back down across from Eggsy. Barely a hair is out of place and the only sign of exertion is the faint flush staining his cheekbones. He’s fucking gorgeous. Eggsy utters a breathless laugh. 

“Fuckin’ glad I did, bruv,” he watches the line of Harry’s throat as he finishes off his beer, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you was shown’ off,” he says and gives Harry a toothy grin. This earns him another raised eyebrow and a small, warm smile that he could easily get addicted to. 

“Perhaps I did handle that with a little more…flash than necessary,” and his brown eyes gleam. Eggsy knows then that they will have their beginning this time. Whatever the middle and the end bring, only time will tell. 

But this is the beginning and the beginning is always wonderful. 

**

After Harry proposes him as the next Lancelot for Kingsman (“I should have known you was a spy,” Eggsy had laughed after Harry explained Kingsman to him during their trip out to headquarters, “Harry Hart, Super Spy has a nice ring to it,” and loved the exaggerated eye roll he got in response), they don’t see very much of each other. Eggsy is too busy trying not to fuck up (or die) and Harry is probably off doing top secret spy stuff. He’s so busy, though, that by the end of the day all he cares about is sleeping and barely has time to miss Harry. If they are not huffing through an obstacle course, they are learning how to fight with every kind of knife imaginable, or drilling on taking apart and reassembling every kind of gun Kingsman has in its arsenal. And Kingsman is rich as fuck so their arsenal is considerable. He has the best times on the obstacle course and he isn’t too shabby with the guns (thank you basic training). But he gets paired with Roxy for the knife work and she's bloody ruthless. 

So for weeks, he knows nothing but training and tests and exhaustion. 

He sees Harry around a few times, usually in passing. Harry asks how everything is going, Eggsy doesn’t pass up an opportunity to brag and they part with shared smiles and an ill feeling left in his stomach. Just nail this job interview, he tells himself, and then he’ll be on equal footing with Harry. 

He also tells himself that he doesn’t believe Harry is avoiding him on purpose but it’s harder to swallow his own lies than someone else’s. 

Just get through the next few months, earn himself the title of Lancelot, make Harry proud. 

**

So much for their beginning. 

**

_He’s been running for three days._

_Three days and nights of slogging through pits of mud and tripping through dense fog, of hurried meals that leave him still achingly hungry and nights of stolen sleep that feel more like death than repose. He fears every delay, every stop his body demands. His enemy is time. When he finally rises one last hill, he is so exhausted he does not even realize he stands over a battlefield._

_Then a low, shattered scream reaches his ears and he stumbles onwards, fear clutching at his throat._

_The warning came three days ago, the ache beginning at his temples, the tightness in his chest. And he knew at once that Dov was in trouble. Even though he pleaded for Dov not to go, that it wasn’t his fight, he could not stop him._

_Now this is all that is left. Broken bodies piled across the dry ground, swords and spears thrust up out of the ground like morbid grave markers. Tribe banners wave weakly in the scorching sun, ripped and nearly indistinguishable from each other. No survivors walk among the bodies; everyone who came to fight this battle fell here, wounded or killed. Carrion birds shriek and wheel about above his head and he knows he doesn’t have much time if he’s going to find Dov before the birds do._

_Eli, choking on his sobs, scrambles down the hill and begins moving from body to broken body, calling Dov’s name until his voice is hoarse and his hands are covered in blood. ___

** 

They are at the shooting range with Merlin breathing down their necks as he taps away at his tablet when Eggsy feels it. 

A sense of wrongness. A tightness in his chest and a heaviness in his throat. 

It hits him as he’s squeezing the trigger on the G36 pressed against his shoulder and the shot goes wide, completely missing the target and pinging off the wall three feet above it. The sudden, shocked silence is blaring. Eggsy hasn’t missed the middle of a target yet and the jarring miss makes everyone glance over at him. But he doesn’t care that they’re staring. He’s too busy concentrating on the creeping sensation slowly starting to restrict his breathing.

He’s felt this feeling before. All of it, down to the gripping pain in his temples and the horrible knowing without really knowing anything at all. 

“What the fuck are you looking at, Eggsy?” Merlin growls behind him and he lowers the rifle, the flare of wrongness growing. 

“Merlin, something happened to Harry,” he manages, throat feeling raw. The hand not holding the rifle shakes as he presses it to his aching temple. He can feel Harry there, feel that he’s in distress but the soul-bind never passes information clearly, when it does at all. There is another ringing silence around him and when he glances up, he finds Merlin staring at him. Urgency burns an unpleasant path up his esophagus. 

“Harry…” he starts only to have Merlin hold his hand up, cutting him off. He touches the frame of his glasses, eyes still trained on Eggsy’s face. 

“Camilla, report please,” he barks. Eggsy doesn’t like how piercing his gaze is, peering so intently at Eggsy, he wonders if Merlin can see right through him. There is complete silence as Merlin listens to someone on his glasses. Slowly, his gaze turns inwards and his eyebrows, already scary enough in their own right, arch sharply downwards. Eggsy wants to scream with frustration because every second they waste is another second Harry isn’t getting help. But before he can say anything, Merlin is speaking, “Alright, good work. Let me know when he’s being brought back.” 

“What happened?” Eggsy demands and earns himself a sharp look. 

“Alright recruits, we are done with weapons for today,” Merlin says over Eggsy’s head, “You lot head out to the course, I want three miles out of you before dinner,” he turns his attention to Eggsy as soon as everyone else is turning away, filling the air with their curious grumbling, and snaps, “Come with me, Eggsy.”

He follows Merlin out of the underground shooting range and up towards the tech department, impatience burning at the insides of his skin. Something is wrong wrong wrong and he’s going to explode with it in a few minutes. 

“How long did you think to keep this to yourselves?” Merlin asks as they walk, voice hard and strange. Eggsy swallows. 

“It weren’t no secret, if that’s what’cha mean,” he says, feeling raw and defensive. Quite honestly, he doesn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t care if soul-binds between Kingsman agents is forbidden or whatever the fuck the rules say. They can kiss his ass. All he cares about is Harry and his current well-being. 

“But neither of you thought to share that information, thus a secret it became,” Merlin growls and even the hurried click of his heels on the polished floors sound angry. 

“What the fuck does it matter?” Eggsy bursts out furiously, voice echoing off the hallway walls. Merlin stops and whips around to face him, his expression dark and murderous. Eggsy cringes under the force of Merlin’s ire. 

“It fucking matters,” Merlins hisses, leaning in threateningly, “It matters because we need to know about it. If anything happened to you, it would have compromised Harry. Clearly, something happening to Harry has compromised you. These things need to be fucking documented so we can deal with the consequences if something goes tits up.” Eggsy crosses his arms and lifts his chin defiantly and Merlin pinches the ridge of his nose with a sigh, “What if we had been doing field work? What if you were pointing that gun with the other trainees on the field and that shit happened as you were taking a shot? What if you shot Roxy?” It’s a low blow; everyone knows by now how Eggsy and Roxy have become fast friends. He feels a little ill at the thought. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Merlin doesn’t stop there, though. 

“And what if Harry was in the middle of a fucking fire fight or a mark makes him because you get yourself injured?” Eggsy grits his teeth and looks away. Merlin makes a soft noise and eases up a little, “There’s no rules against soul-binds, Eggsy, but the rules we do have are for the safety of everyone in Kingsman. Soul-binds are unpredictable. And unpredictable, in this line of work, gets you killed. Got it?” Eggsy nods and his head aches fiercely. 

“Got it, bruv,” he says. It’s not like he had any intention of hiding it from everyone. But clearly Harry never bothered to tell either and he wonders about that. What would make Harry keep it to himself when it’s dangerous to do so? “Is Harry alright?” he asks as Merlin resumes their headlong march down the corridor. 

“Obviously not, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?” Merlin says harshly, obviously still piqued but he relents a moment later with a side-long glance in Eggsy’s direction, “Honestly, I can’t tell you all that much. Not until they get him back here. He’s alive and that’s what you should focus on,” he stops in front of a large, ornate door that opens into the stuffiest library Eggsy has ever seen. He hadn’t even realized they’d entered the more lavish part of the manor. Merlin is looking at him with a gleam of sympathy in his eyes, “For your sake, I’m rather sorry it was Harry.” Eggsy snorts, unsurprised. Harry is, as he always was, an unstoppable force of nature, whether for good or ill. Eggsy manages a grin. 

“I’m not,” he says softly and Merlin gives a disgusted roll of his eyes. 

“Just stay here until the doctors have looked at him, alright? You’ll only get in the way down there anyway,” which is true but Eggsy hates it. He watches Merlin’s the back of his ugly red jumper as he walks away before stomping into the empty room and throwing himself into a chair. 

His skin itches and the ache in his head persists but the pressure in his chest is easing. 

In the silence, surrounded by words that don’t make a single sound, he waits. 

**  
_The tea garden is filled with a riot of pink and white peonies and their scent fills the air like the richest perfume. Hwei-ru lays on her back upon the thick green grass and watches the clouds dart across the sky. They are good clouds today, plump and full of life, lending themselves to whatever shape her mind wants to twist them into. A dragon here and a plume of fire there. A horse, a dog, an eagle. She laughs quietly when she spots a cloud that looks an awful lot like a warrior drawing a bow. It reminds her of destiny._

_“What do you laugh at, all by yourself?” Chao-xing’s voice floats to her on a ribbon of wind, sweet as any perfume. When Hwei-ru tips her head back, Chao-xing is walking through the soft grass, her feet bare and her silks flowing about her like they are alive. Today she is dressed in red and gold, her long hair loose down her back, free so that the wind might pluck at it and tangle it terribly._

_“A huntress in the clouds,” Hwei-ru answers, spreading her arms out to take as much space as possible, “slaying a dragon.” She knows what she must look like, sprawled out as she is with her own hair pulling free from its braid and wearing nothing but a sheer silk shift. When Chao-xing stops next to her and peers down with interest, she is warm with satisfaction._

_“And why are you dressed like that?” Chao-xing demands, round face serious and worried, “What if my brother caught you out here like this?!” she is glancing about, black eyes wide and Hwei-ru reaches out, snagging a delicate ankle._

_“Hush, love, you brother has gone hunting. He won’t be back for days,” hopefully. Hwei-ru hates her husband. For as lovely and sweet as Chao-xing is, her brother is the opposite. It was only her bad luck she was forced to marry the brute only to realize his youngest sister was her other soul-half. She wept when she learned of it and when her mother found out, she wept too. Soul-halfs are precious. Sacred. But so were the vows she made in her marriage and even if he could, she knew her father would not seek to have it broken. She thanks Buddha every day that her husband loves hunting and killing helpless animals more than he likes being home and he does not care who she spends her time with._

_“Are you sure?” Chao-xing asks now, though her attention is already back on Hwei-ru, dark eyes catching on all the places the sheer fabric of her shift clings._

_“Very sure,” Hwei-ru whispers, sliding her fingers up Chao-xing’s calf as she opens her legs. The motion tugs at the loose ties and the shift falls open, baring her to the air and dark, hungry eyes. Chao-xing is quick to take the invitation, a flurry of silk as she lays atop Hwei-ru, lips sweet as they kiss and fingers sliding entreatingly between Hwei-ru’s legs._

_So many stolen moments they’ve had already but it will never be enough. Not until Hwei-ru and Chao-xing grow old and grey._

_And then the cycle begins again._

_Hwei-ru tips her head back as a slick tongue curls around her nipple and two slow, clever fingers roll inside her as a thumb rubs at her clit. Pleasure curls through her blood and joy sings in her heart. Behind her eyelids, she sees eternity and Chao-xing is always at her side._

**

“Tell me the truth,” Eggsy says from where he is curled at the bottom of Harry’s hospital bed, “Did you choose me to be your proposal because you really saw potential in me or did you just do it because of the soul-bind?” it’s an unfair question but the weight of it has been sitting heavily in the back of his mind for days now and he can’t shake it. There is a dry rustling of a newspaper and when he glances up, he finds Harry watching him carefully. 

“Tell me, Eggsy, how are your weapons scores?” he asks, voice measured. Instantly Eggsy knows what he’s getting at and he drops his head back onto the blanket. It’s his first downtime in forty eight hours and he is determined to squeeze in as much time as he can with Harry before he has to go back, despite exhaustion making his limbs heavy and his eyes burn. It has been nearly two weeks and he’d begun to think maybe Harry never would wake up. When he did, fucking finally, Eggsy marched into his room and said in the firmest tone he could muster, 

“Listen up, Harry Hart. You don’t get to decide anymore how this is gonna go, ‘aright? Keep all the secrets you fucking want but I ain’t goin’ fucking nowhere. So you are gonna deal with it. Fuck you if you think you can be all noble and shit and can pretend like we ain’t got fucking history. You’re mine, yeah? For-fucking-ever. I thought we agreed on that in the pub but maybe I got a different fucking memo. Here’s a memo for ya, bruv: you pull away from me again, I will never forgive you,” he took a breath, realized Harry and the nurse at the door that must have come through while he was ranting were both staring at him and flushed. But he wasn’t going to take it back, either. So he crossed his arms, lifted his chin and added, “Also, you pull this almost dying shit one more fucking time and I’m gonna fucking kill ya myself, yeah?” Merlin had laughed himself sick when he heard about it but Roxy didn’t laugh. She smiled and said,    
“Good on you, Eggsy.” Roxy, Eggsy quickly discovered over the harrowing days waiting for Harry to wake up, is the fucking gov’nr. 

Now Eggsy grumbles into the soft fabric of the bed spread. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t hear that,” Harry says dryly and Eggsy heaves a sigh. 

“Top marks,” he answers reluctantly. Harry hums and folds up the paper he was reading, setting it on his knees. He looks better than he did two days ago when he woke up, eyes sharp and hands steady. The doctors say he can go home tomorrow if the tests come back to their liking. Eggsy is just happy to see his eyes open. 

“Right. And how about your times on the obstacle course?” he demands, unrelenting. 

“The fastest,” thank you gymnastics and his perchance for free running when he got older. Although Roxy is quickly catching on to some of his moves. 

“I see. And how about the sharp-shooting test?” Eggsy perks up at that. 

“Roxy won that one,” he says almost joyfully. Harry glares at him and he sobers quickly. 

“Yes, but you were second. My point is, if I brought you here and you had no potential, you wouldn’t have lasted past the first test and you know it. Six candidates left and you’re one of them. Our binding had no influence on my decision what-so-ever,” there’s a small pause, barely noticeable, and Harry says, softer this time, “When have you ever known me to use that an excuse?” Never, is the answer. Not once in all their life-times did Harry take advantage of their soul-bind. He may have denied it, bathed it in blood, murdered for it, died for it, and watched Eggsy die because of it but he never used it for a personal gain. Eggsy bites his lip and pokes at the lump of Harry’s toes under the blankets. 

“We’re always different people, bruv,” he murmurs and pokes Harry’s toes again when they wiggle. Harry draws his foot away before Eggsy can pinch him. 

“Maybe, on the outside. But we are, fundamentally, still the same,” Eggsy sighs and rolls over so he’s on his stomach and his limbs drape off either side of the hospital bed. He hates it when Harry is right. His eyes close, heavy and gritty, and the blanket is soft under his cheek. 

“How did you know I had potential?” he asks, voice sounding far away even to his own ears. Harry laughs. 

“Surveillance cameras are handy,” he says, voice liquid warmth and Eggsy wants to bury himself in it, “I watched you steal a car and lead a cruiser on a merry chase through London. While driving it backwards. Impressive piece of work, I must say.” Eggsy hides a smile in the bed. 

“If you saw all that, you must’a seen me crash the damn thing,” there is a touch on his back and he peeks over his outstretched arm to see Harry has moved his foot back and is prodding him with his toe through the covers. It makes Eggsy smile wider. 

“I did, yes. I also saw the cat in the road,” their eyes meet over Eggsy’s arm and something warm pools in his chest. It feels like sunlight and acceptance, “It wasn’t just the impressive car chase that made my decision for me.” Eggsy doesn't think about that moment as anything but weakness. They’d probably have shaken the cop if he’d just kept going. But he couldn’t run it over, not even a stray cat. 

Perhaps, looking at Harry’s warm expression now, it wasn’t weakness at all. 

There is a long, easy silence that settles between them. Then Harry breaks it, saying softly, “And don’t forget, Eggsy, I’ve known you for centuries. You are more than capable enough for this.” He wonders which memory Harry is working from and then decides it doesn’t matter.

Eggsy closes his eyes and soaks up Harry’s presence, feeling better than he has since he started this whole thing. 

**

No matter what Merlin or Roxy thinks, it wasn’t a love confession. 

Love has nothing to do with it.

Eggsy and Harry are fated. They are a single coin with two sides, two halves of a complete whole. They were made to belong to one another. Oh, they always fall in love, eventually. Sometimes its messy and ends in grief and sometimes it’s wonderful. But when he says that Harry is his, he means it literally. 

Love has nothing to do with it. 

Yet.

**

_Eydis shines like a beacon of sunlight upon the rocky shore of the frozen lake. Though her clothes are warm and thick, wool and fur, grey and silver, her hair whips around her tall form like waves of gold, woven from the finest yellow sand and touched by the sun. Whether here at home, in the frozen landscape winter and framed with jutting, rocky mountains, or whirling in battle with her sword bloodied and her shield raised, she is always a beacon of light._

_And no matter what form she takes, woman, lover, songstress or ruthless warrior, he loves every single piece of her._

_Taras watches her from the doorway of their home and waits for her to turn around._

**

“We’re three degrees off to the west,” Eggsy states as he studies the compass in his hand by the aid of Charlie’s penlight. There’s a disbelieving huff but after leading them astray for nearly an hour and getting them hopelessly lost, Charlie has no choice but to trust Eggsy now. He pockets the compass and they head off in the correct direction, dead leaves and underbrush crunching under their boots. 

They’d been dropped off in the middle of nowhere in teams of two, given contact coordinates and a compass and told to find their way by navigating through unfamiliar territory in the dead of night. Eggsy, it seems, drew the short straw when he got paired with Charlie. The wanker couldn’t navigate his way out of a fucking paper bag. Eggsy would have taken over from the very start but it probably would have ended in a fistfight because Charlie was going to prove himself or sink and didn’t give a shit that he was dragging Eggsy down into his shit pile with him. 

“You realize you have learned nothing about working in a team,” he finally says as the silence stretches out between them. It is eerily quiet in the forest, interrupted here and there by shrill calls of unfamiliar wild animals. He can almost see Charlie’s answering sneer in the dark. 

“I can work in a team,” Charlie snaps, “I just can’t work in a team with you,” to which Eggsy thinks thank fuck because Charlie is a serious dick and if he had to work with him more, he’d probably just fucking quit. Good thing only one of them was going to make it to the end. 

“Fuck, right, how could I forget? You only get on with snobby arseholes like yourself,” when Charlie remains quiet, save for his stomping through the brush, Eggsy rolls his eyes and mutters, “Get over yourself, bruv,” which will never happen but whatever. This seems to strike a chord, though, because Charlie kicks at a rotting branch in his way violently enough it shatters as it spins into the underbrush. 

“Here’s a question for you, then. How the fuck did someone like you manage a bind with a Kingsman Agent?” his tone is disbelieving and mean and it makes Eggsy see red. He whips around, crowding right into Charlie’s personal space. He’s been wondering when someone was going to bring it up. Perhaps he should be grateful it’s only Charlie. 

“I think what you meant t’say is how some scummy chav like me managed a gentleman like Harry, yeah?” he can’t really see clearly in the darkness, the moonlight thin and silver and sparse under the trees. But he doesn’t need to see it to know Charlie is taken back, his eyes wide and mouth open, “Let me tell you somefing about people like me. We’re fucking people, you arsehole, just like you and just because we ain’t born with no silver spoon shoved up our asses don’t make that less true,” he stares at Charlie for a few seconds longer before shoving away, continuing to walk in the correct direction. 

They walk for another half hour in silence, finding a road and trudging along at the edge of the asphalt. 

“Some of the others think you got here because of who your bond is,” Charlie speaks up eventually, as the lights of a small town come into view over the rise of a hill, “But I don’t think that’s true,” it’s not an apology really, but it’s close enough for Eggsy. He huffs a laugh and just shakes his head. 

“Fanks. That’s our contact point, by the way,” he says, pointing at the town and feels a punch of triumph in his gut when Charlie grumbles irritably. 

**

_“Your father is looking for you,” Cato’s footsteps are light on the marble of the courtyard, his sandals soft-soled from long wear. Lucius clicks his tongue in annoyance because he’s hiding from his father. That’s the whole point. Keeping his arms crossed stubbornly, he resolutely does not turn around to face the man behind him._

_“My father is overbearing and only cares about his own self-interests,” he snaps. The warm autumn air is scented with salt and brine from the sea and if he listens hard enough, he can hear waves crashing against the shore. Sometimes he thinks about stealing a boat and following those waves to distant lands. Anywhere but here. Cato comes around the low wall Lucius is perched on and sits beside him._

_“Even if that is true, he is still your father,” Cato’s voice is soft and kind and Lucius drops his head onto his arms that are propped up on his knees, “He wants what’s best for you, you know that.” So mild. So willing to roll over and accept defeat. Lucius jerks away from Cato and gets up to stalk back and forth in front of the wall._

_“And is what’s best for me that conniving bitch he wants to saddle me with? Do you think she’ll make me happy?” he laughs incredulously, a high, wild sound that makes Cato wince. Lucius doesn’t care, “He wants me to marry Drusa because she is the Magistrate’s daughter and he values the connection it would make. He values the wealth and the power that comes with the match! If he valued me at all, he would let me live with you, Cato!” he throws his hands in the air, frustrated. It’s a tired argument, familiar and worn like a well-used scabbard. How could his father deny him his fated? Lucius glances at Cato and feels his heart constrict with want. He is lovely, cast in silvery light from a full moon, light hair curling over his forehead and pulled neatly back into a tail at his nape. His nose is straight and narrow, his eyes a deep brown, and his lips full and soft. Cato is strong from sword training and clever with his words and Lucius cannot imagine parting from him._

_Cato, strangely, is silent and after a moment or two of enraged pacing, Lucius turns to face him. Shadowed eyes consider him._

_“I spoke to your father,” Cato finally says, voice solemn. Lucius stills, waiting with bated breath, “I told him we are Fated and that I wished to take you into my household.”_

_“But that’s good! Even father wouldn’t separate a Fated pair!” Lucius cries, a prickle of hope flaring hot in his chest but Cato remains grave._

_“He refused, Lucius,” disbelief wars with disappointment, the tiny flame of hope crushed. The look on Cato’s face matches Lucius’s devastation, “You are his only child and I am just a Lieutenant. I have no connections and my estate is small. I can offer your father nothing,” Cato says and the defeat in his voice is painful to hear. Cato never sounds like this; he is a soldier, a fighter. Lucius makes a helpless noise and folds onto his knees at Cato’s feet. When he drops his head to Cato’s knees, warm hands card gently through his hair._

_“I won’t marry someone else,” he whispers against Cato’s bare skin, curling his hands around his muscular calves._

_“What if you come away with me?” Lucius almost doesn’t hear the words, they are spoken so softly. For a moment, he thinks they are just part of the crashing waves in the distance. Then he realizes what Cato said and he pulls back, eyes wide and heart thumping wildly in his chest._

_“What?” he breathed, barely daring to hope. Cato leans down, cupping his hands against Lucius’s cheeks. His eyes are big and dark._

_“Run away with me. I will not stand by and watch you marry someone else. I will not let you be taken away from me,” he snags Lucius’s lips in a hungry, biting kiss that leaves Lucius dizzy and giddy and grinning uncontrollably. But he sobers quickly because it could never be that simple, surely._

_“Cato, you can’t just defect from Caesar’s army. You’ll be hunted down and killed as a traitor!” but Cato just smiles, thumbs stroking gently over Lucius’s cheekbones._

_“Then we will run so far away, to the ever edge of the earth, that we will never be found. But I will not be parted from you,” he says seriously. Lucius is laughs, joy gripping his heart and excitement sweet on his tongue._

_It tastes like freedom._

**

Twenty-four hours. 

Twenty-four hours to spend in Harry’s company. 

Eggsy is giddy with not dying on a set of train tracks and successfully finishing the second-to-last test. One more and he’s a Kingsman agent. He’s Lancelot. On equal footing with Harry at last. 

But this twenty-four hour thing is brilliant because despite his ultimatum, he hasn’t been able to spend much time with Harry after all. 

With Eggsy’s training and Harry going off who-knows-where on missions, a whole week can go by without seeing hide or hair of each other. But at least if Eggsy has a few hours to fuck off and Harry’s not off kicking some megalomaniac’s teeth into their skull, Harry doesn’t try to avoid him anymore. They take tea or sit together in HQ dining room for lunch or dinner. Just being able to sit down and talk to Harry is comforting. He doesn’t even care what they talk about, when Harry is sitting close enough to touch and his warm brown eyes don’t leave Eggsy’s face for full minutes at a time. These stolen moments are about learning each other again, discovering little quirks and learning the specific and unique cadences of each other’s voices and speech patterns. Harry is clever and intelligent, surprisingly full of pop culture references that often go over Eggsy’s head, though he manages to surprise Harry with a few of his own. Sometimes he gives in-depth histories on some Kingsman agents long dead or he tells Eggsy stories about his own missions from when he was younger. 

Eggsy likes those stories the best. As he listens, he tries to picture Harry in his late twenties, with his long legs and curly hair, wrecking havoc everywhere he goes. 

It’s an appealing image. 

And now he has twenty four hours and he feels stupid with excitement. 

“Your progress has been nothing short of remarkable, you know,” Harry says warmly over take away they eat at his dining room table, which Harry insists on taking out of the cartons and eating off of honest to God plates. Eggsy doesn’t know if its sad or endearing and doesn’t let himself think about Harry eating take away off his fancy fucking plates with his fancy fucking silverware all alone. Instead he smiles at the praise and quickly swallows his mouthful of food. 

“Rox is gonna be hard to beat,” he returns honestly because she is. Of all of them, Eggsy thinks Roxy would truly make an amazing Kingsman agent. If he didn’t want this so much, he’d be tempted to let her have it. 

“Yes, Miss Morton’s scores are excellent. Some of the best we’ve ever seen,” Eggsy nods because he’s not surprised and wonders what she would say if he told her Harry paid her such a high complement. Probably would be properly chuffed. Then Harry is eyeing him from over his wine glass (and who the fuck drinks wine with Chinese) and adds, “Your scores are not far behind. One more test and I am certain you will make an excellent Lancelot.” Eggsy feels his face heating and tries to hide it by ducking his head but there is little hope Harry hasn’t seen. Being a spy and all. 

“Gotta pass the test first, don’ I?” he mutters and stuffs half of a spring roll into his mouth. Harry’s expression is warm and calm and free of doubt. 

“You’ll pass, Eggsy,” and it’s that kind of confidence that makes him believe he can move mountains or change weather patterns. Because Harry Hart’s faith in him is electrifying. 

They clean up dinner, Eggsy washing Harry’s fancy ass dishes constantly afraid he’s going to drop one and Harry dries them. Standing side by side in Harry’s kitchen, all cosy and domestic-like, is strange. Strange because he’s never figured himself a domestic type, never has been before this. But he remembers times, moments in different lives, when they were like this. A morning as he helped Harry make a huge, fancy bed and laughing when Harry couldn’t get the corners right. A night they sat together, sharing dinner cooked over a fire and licking grease from each other’s fingers. An afternoon in a garden overflowing with flowers, grass under his legs as he watches slim fingers embroider a firebird into red silk. An evening spent sharpening their weapons and laughing to the sound of oiled stone on metal. 

Eggsy doesn’t need to look at Harry to know he’s thinking about that too.

It happens a lot in the beginning, remembering before. But the more time they spend together, the less they need to rely on old memories and can make new ones. Eggsy thinks making the memories is his favorite part. 

They retire to Harry’s study were he tells Eggsy more stories about the headlines he has hanging on the crimson walls, to pee or not to pee? What the fuck, Harry? He thinks its a little weird, that Harry can look at the headlines and know he’ll get no thanks at all for the incredible things he’s done and the lives he’s saved. Eggsy counts the papers and marvels. So many. Over a hundred, certainly. But then, Harry has never done anything for credit he might or might not receive.

Eggsy smiles fondly. 

It isn’t until the martini lesson is over, Harry’s dining room table a mess of glasses, several used tumblers, and booze, that he finds himself needing to touch. To be closer. 

He can feel the tug, right behind his sternum, pulling at him. Always in Harry’s direction. It happens this way, when they get to the point when just spending time together isn’t enough. When their souls call to each other, when looks and close proximity aren’t enough. It’s a bit like starving, like skipping meals two days in a row. He follows Harry up to the second floor with electricity in his fingers and longing sticky sweet at the back of his throat. Lets Harry show him to the guest bedroom, neatly made up and waiting to be used, lets Harry hand him a pair of nicely folded pajamas. And then lets Harry turn around and walk out. 

“Can I stay with you?” the words tumble out of his mouth so fast Eggsy doesn’t even realize he’s said them aloud at first. There is silence from the hall where Harry has already disappeared around the doorframe and Eggsy stands in the middle of the guest room clutching the borrowed pajamas to his chest so hard his knuckles turn white. And he waits for Harry’s response, unable to breathe. Finally Harry steps back into the doorway and his gaze is more intense than Eggsy has ever seen it. 

“You have your last test in the morning,” he starts, “We shouldn’t…” but Eggsy shakes his head, cuts off Harry’s reluctant refusal. 

“No, I mean, just stay with you. Next to you,” the words hang heavy in the air but Harry must not feel it because he tips his head to the side and smiles crookedly. 

“Yes, alright,” Harry says after a tick and Eggsy follows the warmth in the dark brown eyes all the way into Harry’s bedroom. He is unaccountably nervous, which is ridiculous because they aren’t going to do anything. At least, he wasn’t planning on it. But his hands shake a little when he changes into the borrowed pajamas in the privacy of Harry’s ensuite and his heart hammers as he pads barefoot back into the bedroom to find Harry rummaging in his dresser. The pajamas he wears are soft and hang a little bit on his shorter frame and they smell like Harry. Like the room he stands in, welcoming and familiar.

“The fit leave something to be desired,” Harry remarks when he turns around but there is a smile at the crinkled edges of his eyes and possessiveness in the way he touches the side of Eggsy’s neck when he steps up to him. Eggsy just laughs. 

“They’re pajamas, bruv. They don’t need to be fitted or nothin’,” but he says it less incredulously than he’d have liked because Harry is so close, close enough that he can see how Harry’s eyes turn light at the edges, and he smells like gin. Fuck, he wants to kiss him. 

“Hmm, perhaps. I do like seeing you in my clothes.” Eggsy rolls his eyes but grabs Harry’s sleeve when he goes to step away. 

“Harry…” he breathes, tugging Harry close, close, he aches to be as close as humanly possible. Finally, Harry catches on and before he knows what’s happening, he is swept up in a strong embrace, mouth opening under firm lips. Yes, he thinks wildly, happily, curling his hands into Harry’s soft hair, this is what he has been waiting for. Skin contact, breathing each other’s air. He makes a strangled noise when Harry’s tongue sweeps over his own and fits himself all along Harry’s front, chest, hips, thighs. They kiss like they are starving and touch is sustenance, like they are drowning and the kiss is a life-line. Eggsy has always thought those cliches were so stupid. But now he understands what they mean. 

Now, when pulling away from Harry’s lips, Harry’s hands, Harry’s tongue, breath, and the strength of his arms would surely mean death, Eggsy understands.

Fate tastes like the inside of Harry’s mouth. 

When they break apart, minutes, hours, days later, Eggsy’s mind buzzes and he feels like he’s been set adrift in a calm, warm current. Opening his eyes takes an effort but it is worth it when he sees Harry’s dark gaze fixed on his mouth, lips damp and bitten from their kiss. Unbidden, a smile curls on Eggsy’s mouth. 

“What’s funny?” Harry asks softly, one of his hands curled at the back of Eggsy’s neck so he can rub his thumb at the skin behind Eggsy’s ear. 

“Not funny,” Eggsy answers because the last thing he feels like doing is laughing. Unless he laughs out of sheer giddy joy, “Just…could’a had this for years, you know. At least once I turned eighteen.” When he thinks about that, how Harry knew, he feels a pang of regret for the time they could have been spending together. The years they missed. Harry sighs and pulls away a little, so their bodies are no longer flush. But he doesn’t move his hands away, keeping them on Eggsy’s person like not touching him would be physically painful. 

“You see the life I lead,” Harry says, ducking his head so his hair dips over his forehead, “I thought, if I died, it would be better for you to never know me. I wanted to spare you that,” and Eggsy gets it. He does.

“Either of us could die at any time, y’know,” he says, rather pragmatically. Harry pulls him close again, buries his nose in Eggsy’s hair and the warmth of him is brilliant. It seeps gloriously into Eggsy’s bones and he clutches at Harry’s shirt, holds him as close as he can, “It’s happened before and it’s probably going to happen again. But, fuck Harry, spending a single minute with you would be better than having never had you at all,” which is true and not true. Because it doesn’t matter how much time he spends with Harry in any given lifetime. It’s never enough. 

“I know,” Harry says anyway, even though he knows as well as Eggsy it’s only half true, “You were so young, though. And I fear I am not young at all.” To which Eggsy snorts and finally pulls away. 

“Last time, I was older than you,” he states reasonably and Harry shakes his head fondly. The warm light of the single lamp catches the silver threaded in his soft brown hair and Eggsy realizes he is more than just passing fond of Harry by now. The feeling is wonderful. 

“Not by as many years, Eggsy,” Harry reminds him wryly, stroking Eggsy’s cheek gently, “This is the biggest age gap we’ve had to contend with yet.” He looks sad and the lines around his eyes are deep. Heart aching, Eggsy reaches up and curls his fingers through Harry’s, holding the warm palm against his cheek. 

“I don’t care, Harry. I don’t fucking care,” because it’s not about that. It’s never about that. 

Eventually he has to let Harry go take his turn in the bathroom and he hesitantly slides into the big bed, taking a little satisfaction in mussing the neat covers and pillows. By the time Harry returns, clad in pajamas that fit him remarkably well (and now Eggsy sees the appeal of well-fitting sleep wear because fucking hell), Eggsy is deeply entrenched in Harry’s bed and already beginning to doze. He smiles a little as Harry clicks off the light and elegantly curls his long body into the bed across from Eggsy. 

And it’s right, like this. With the city lights sneaking into the room through chinks in the curtains illuminating their faces just enough Eggsy can see Harry watching him from his own pillow. He can see the indents left from his glasses and the way his hair curls as it starts to pull free from its normally rigid styling. It makes Harry look softer, less like he can snap a person’s neck as easily as breathing or can kill someone thirty different ways with a spoon. The tilt of his eyebrows is gentler, his lips soft and inviting. Eggsy reaches out and, after a little bit of shuffling about under the covers, finds Harry’s hand so he can wind their fingers together. 

Harry’s smile is like coming home. 

“Wanna hear somefin’ wild?” he whispers after a moment and Harry makes a soft, agreeable noise in the back of his throat, “Okay, so a while ago, before I went into the Marines, me an’ Jamal was muckin’ about. Ryan was stuck on this bird, right, so me an’ Jamal were right bitter about being left behind. We was just walkin’ down the street by the estates and this bloke, all posh and shiny, pulls up in this sweet fucking Jaguar. All gorgeous and gleaming like she was right out o’the fucking factory,” he sighs dreamily, even know. Fuck, that car had been amazing. 

“I’m fear I already know where this is going,” Harry says wryly but his eyes are shining with appreciation. Eggsy shushes him. 

“You really don’t, bruv. Because, okay, a car like that, how is any self-respecting man supposed to resist that? And the arsehole parked it right there. Like it was a damn present,” Harry snorts and Eggsy ignores the disbelieving sound. 

“You stole it, didn’t you,” Harry asks, voice unimpressed. 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that it was really fucking difficult. Took all my know-how just to get in that thing without setting off the alarm. And they don’t have fucking regular key fobs so then I had to do some fancy wiring. But I just wanted to drive it. Car like that was made to be driven, you feel me?” Eggsy lifts his eyebrows and feels warm air puff over his forehead when Harry breathes a laugh. 

“I see,” he says with warm affection hidden in his tone, “So you were just going to borrow it.”

“See, you get it! That’s what I tried telling the officer that arrested me! Didn’t believe me, a’course,” Harry laughs again and his hand is warm in Eggsy’s. 

“Of course,” and his voice is all syrupy and slow. How can a sound be that sexy, he wonders absently. 

“So, yeah, it turns out that Jags have this security thing that when it gets stolen, the owner can call into the car and have it shut off. But, fuck Harry, it took that wanker almost a half an hour to realize it was gone. Best fucking half hour of my life,” he shakes his head, “And then, of course, cops figured us out. Put my free running skills to the test that day, lemme tell you. Finally, we was cornered by this huge office building, all fancy architecture and shit and I remember turning to Jamal and goin’ ‘wanna get outta this’? And of course he did, no one wants to be arrested,” he laughs at the memory, “So we fucking climbed that building. All seventeen stories.”

“Christ, Eggsy,” Harry mutters, pressing an exasperated sigh into his pillow. 

“I know, that’s what my mum said,” Michelle had been rather more vocal about it, actually. Fucking terrified didn’t even begin to cover it, “We almost got away too. All them buildings over there are huge and close together and we hopped a couple roofs before scaling down one the next block over,” Harry is amused, he can tell by the crinkle at the corner of his single visible eye. 

“How did you get caught, then?” he asks softly, thumb tracking gently over Eggsy’s knuckles under the comforter. 

“The building we climbed down was a fucking residence and someone called and grassed us up,” he shakes his head. 

“I looked through your files when we first met,” Harry says after a small silence, voice a little more serious now, “Why is there no record of your arrest?” 

“Well, I was only sixteen and it was the first time I’d gotten caught pullin’ that shit. They let me go with some community service,” he explains. The judge, an older woman with a careworn face and kind eyes, had taken one look at him, all juvenile defiance and the bruise from Dean’s fist still fresh on his cheek, and had taken pity on him. She was not, he later came to find, the norm. 

“You know,” Harry observes slowly, voice as dark as molasses, “if you pass your last test tomorrow, you will have any kind of car you could want at your disposal.” Eggsy nearly sits up in his excitement. 

“Are you fucking for real!?” he gasps and grins happily when Harry nods, “Wicked!” he wiggles happily for a minute, only stilling when Harry wraps his free arm around Eggsy’s waist and pulls him closer, “You sure know how to make a bloke feel special, Harry Hart,” he teases as he tucks himself under Harry’s chin. Their hands, still tangled together, are hot where they are mashed between their bodies. Harry squeezes his fingers and hums deep in his chest. 

“If I’d known you were so easy…” he returns, trailing off suggestively and Eggsy pinches one of his fingers in retaliation. 

“Shut it, you,” and he enjoys the way Harry laughs, soft and low and inviting. They are quiet after that, curled into each other’s heat, clinging with hands and thoughts. At some point, Eggsy drifts off and his dreams are quiet and peaceful. 

**

“I’ll sort this mess out when I get back,” Harry says and Eggsy feels like his heart has been crushed in his chest. Harry’s face, usually open and warm, is closed off in anger. It makes his dark eyes cold and his mouth a hard, unforgiving line. Nothing like the mouth Eggsy kissed only last night. 

“Harry,” he tries, guilty, defeated, heartbroken, but Harry is already turning away, already out the door. 

Eggsy is already alone.

**  
_Edward enlists in the army because Charles was drafted._

_He sits at his mother’s kitchen table and stares at the letter in his hand. The stamp of approval is blaring and red against the whiteness of the page. Like a portent of the future; red like spilled blood. His hands shake as he folds it up and puts it to the side. Soft weeping floats down to him through the ceiling, where his mother is crying in her room. Already one son lost to the war and now another is being shipped out to boot camp in three days. Edward wants to feel remorse but he doesn’t. Just a low, aching finality._

_“Charles was drafted,” he told her by way of explanation but that’s all he needed to say. They’ve known since they were children they were soul-bound. Not even a war across an entire ocean is going to keep them apart. He would have promised her that they’d both come back but that is one hell of a promise to keep._

_Just then the kitchen door bangs open and Charles slams into the room, his face a mask of fury._

_“You enlisted!?” he shouts with no preamble and for a moment, Edward is afraid of him, “What the fuck, Edward! Why the fuck did you enlist? You promised!” he turns his head away from the force of Charles’s rage, swallowing down the painful lump in his throat._

_“You were drafted,” he whispers lamely and jumps when Charles bangs his fist against the wall._

_“We agreed! We agreed that if one of us was drafted, the other would stay behind! You were my focus! My reason to come back!” angry, bitter tears prickle at Edward’s eyes and he dashes them away impatiently, clings to the edge of anger so he can turn back to Charles and face his dark, towering fury._

_“And what if you died?” he demands, refusing to let his voice be weak, to give him away, “What if you’re killed over there and I’m stuck here, waiting for you to come back. How do you think I would feel, Charles?” he sticks out his jaw defiantly when Charles bares his teeth, “What would you have done, if it was me who got drafted instead?” and they both know the answer to that. Promise or no promise, Charles would have done the exact same thing. All at once, Charles deflates, sagging onto one of the kitchen chairs. Upstairs, the sobbing has stopped._

_“I can’t…I don’t think I can do this if I know you’re going to be in danger,” Charles finally rasps, head bowed so his forehead presses into the lace tablecloth. Edward reaches out and laces his fingers through Charles’s._

_“We are both going to come home,” he says, heart heavy. Charles looks up, pale eyes flat and responds in a voice that could grind glass,_

_“Both of us come home or neither of us do.”_

_A year and a half later, two letters are sent to a sleepy little town, one addressed to the family of Charles Daily and the other addressed to the family of Edward Strauss._

_Neither ever return home._

 

** 

The thing is, after the disappointment of failure and fucking up yet again, he needs Harry. He needs Harry to tell him he isn’t disappointed, that he won’t tell Eggsy to leave and never see him again. Fuck, he would break if Harry left him now. Break into a thousand pieces, so small they couldn’t even be swept up by a broom. He stands at the closed front door for a long time, staring at the paneling and telling himself to breathe. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he says a hundred times, his voice rough. He says it to the door and then to the floor and then to his knees when he can’t stand anymore. For hours he says it, until his throat aches and his eyes burn. 

And then he picks himself up and makes his way up into Harry’s study. Opens his laptop, guesses his password in three tries (Louis was Eggsy’s name a hundred and fifty years ago. He didn’t think Harry knew it, since Harry barely poke to him then) and, with shaking hands, digs around in his programs for the link to Harry’s glasses feed. The link comes up full-screen to show Harry just stepping off of the plane into bright sunshine beaming down onto a huge runway. He catches the top of a shiny oxford and the swing of Harry’s Rain Maker and his chest aches. When Harry folds himself into a limo and gives the driver a location in that soft, syrupy voice of his, Eggsy focuses on Harry’s hands he can see folded in his lap. He thinks about how they felt, gentle in his hair and strong when they curled around his waist.

“America is fucking ugly,” he grumbles as Harry looks out the window and watches the flat countryside slide by. Not all of it is ugly. He sees some huge, old trees crowned with pale, hanging moss marching in front of a great big house, white and stately at the end of the long drive. Huge fields of corn ramble by, so big he wonders how people don’t get lost in them, and a couple fields that look like they serve no other purpose than for wildflowers to grow. But he sees the run-down trailer parks too, the houses that lean and sag, the tiny shacks ringed with old, rusted out cars. It’s a kind of poverty he can relate to, just in different forms. 

God, what if he has to go back to that?

The thought is more painful than he thought it’d be. Sure, he has mum and Daisy, and Ryan and Jamal are good mates. But what else is there? Does he go back to stealing cars and shitty jobs (when he can even get them)? Does he go back to Dean and his cock-sucking goons? Just the thought fills him with dull defeat. 

Eggsy doesn’t get too much time to dwell on it, though, because the limo is pulling up to a plain white church with a parking lot full of cars and Harry is moving again. Into the church that is full to bursting and taking a seat on a pew halfway from the front. It is only moments before the pastor is standing and spewing the worst kind of hateful rhetoric Eggsy’s ever heard. 

“Charming sermon,” Merlin’s voice is tinny in the computer speakers, “Do you see Valentine?” and Eggsy gets a sick feeling in his stomach. Harry swivels his head around, noting the security camera above the door and taking in all of the red faces of the congregation as he does. Eggsy wrinkles his nose. Charming sermon indeed. 

But then…

There. This sick feeling in his stomach. He realizes that it isn’t the typical ill feeling he gets when he’s put off by something. No, it’s something else. Unease. Dread. 

The knowledge that something is about to go horribly wrong. 

Eggsy just doesn’t realize what it is until hell is unleashed in the small, Kentucky church. There’s a ringing in his ears as he watches Harry slaughter dozens of people. There is a brutal lack of grace to Harry’s movements, like he’s a wild animal in a rage of blood lust. Nothing he does seems to make much sense, beyond trying to kill anyone and everyone. He’s seen Harry fight; he’s usually a beautiful economy of motion. Every move is calculated and sure. Punches are placed in exactly the right spot, no bullet is wasted, no shift in weight unused. But now Harry seems to come undone, grabbing at anyone who’s close enough and tearing them apart. It’s ugly and ruthless and entirely unlike him.

Eggsy can hear, over the wave of violence that has overtaken the church, Merlin yelling Harry’s name, trying to get his attention. 

Harry never answers. 

He tears, maims, slaughters and remains utterly silent. 

Everything that comes to his hands is a weapon, a pew, a book, two pieces of an unloaded gun, a flag pole. Eggsy nearly screams when he puts the grenade in some bloke’s pocket and then forgets about it, nearly getting himself blown up. Bile surges up Eggsy’s throat and he swallows it with some difficulty. 

And just as suddenly as it started, it is over, leaving him with a last lingering image of the pastor propped up with a wooden pole through the bottom of his jaw. 

“Harry,” Eggsy breathes, horror creeping over him in cold waves as Harry’s glasses take in the carnage that’s left, “Bloody fucking hell.” It is hell. Maybe one day, he will appreciate the irony of hell being the inside of a church but today he finds nothing amusing. 

Eggsy doesn’t realize that the burn of dread in his gut has only gotten worse until Harry is out of the church and facing down the barrels of two guns, a very smug Valentine, and a girl Eggsy vaguely recognizes as his assistant. 

“What did you do to me?” Harry voice is rough and brittle with horror and the ringing in Eggsy’s ears gets worse, “I had to control.” 

No control.

Eggsy knows this feeling. 

_“I had no control, Eli. Help me, I had no control,” Dov says around the blood bubbling from between his lips, brown eyes already distant and a sword piercing his chest. Bodies litter the field around them and crows chatter in the sky._

_“Taras, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what came over me,” Eydis whispers as she lies on a bloodied battlefield, crowned with her own golden hair and wreathed in her life’s blood._

_“Edward, my love, it’s time for me to go,” Charles says quietly as bombs sing around them and dies silently in the muddy trenches far from home, his head cradled in Edward’s lap._

Each time, the ringing in his ears was loud and the twist in his gut nearly fatal. 

“I’m afraid this isn’t that kind of movie,” Valentine says and shoots Harry in the face. 

**

Eggsy burns through the next twenty-four hours in a haze of grief and rage. He means it when he tells Arthur he’d rather be with Harry. He’d always rather be with Harry. Every single time, he wishes he’d died along side him. Watching Arthur choke on poison fills him with satisfaction. 

Killing Gazelle and Valentine only leaves him empty. 

Because the act of killing Harry’s murderers doesn’t bring him back. It only makes Eggsy a murderer too.

**

_“Don’t you remember, my Lord Marcellus? Don’t you dream about it?” his voice is a desperate plead, his hands tight on the wooden fence that stands between him and the man who has the other half of his soul. He’s a beautiful man, tall and dark, with a black riot of curls and bronze skin and eyes the the same color as a piece of green sea glass Louis saw once at Market. But when he looks at Louis, his eyes are dark and his full lips pressed into a flat, unwelcoming line._

_“My dreams are none of your concern,” Marcellus snarled, already making to turn away. As he has every time Louis has tried to approach him. With a strangled sound that is dredged up from his aching soul, Louis reaches out, catches the sleeve of Marcellus’s expensive jacket and pauses his retreat. His green eyes are like swords when they swing to meet his but he won’t flinch back and he won’t let go. Because he remembers._

_“They are, when we share the same dreams!” he cries, the fence pressing into his chest as he reaches over it, “Your dreams and my dreams are the same! Our memories are connected! Why do you deny me time and again?” At first he thinks Marcellus will shake him off and snap at him like he always does. But silence stretches between them, horrible and horribly full of hope._

_“Because I will hurt you,” Marcellus finally answers, his voice the softest Louis has ever heard it, “I will only bring you misery and pain. In the end, you will die cursing my name,” he looks at Louis and his lovely eyes are sad, “I will find you in the next life. When I bear no curse and do not walk with the blade of justice hovering over my head.” This time he does shake Louis off and with one last look, walks away._

_“No, please,” Louis tries but his voice is broken and his legs weak and he watches Marcellus walk away for the last time._

_He see him three more times after that, astride a tall black horse and watching silently as Louis works in his fields. Every time, his heart gives a little leap of hope and he pauses in his work because maybe, just maybe, Marcellus will come for him anyway. But he never does._

_And after the third time, Louis never sees him again._

**

Eggsy realizes Harry isn’t dead on the plane ride back to England. 

Outside the window, the ocean is a black, endless carpet, interrupted only by the occasional wisp of grayish cloud. He stares at it and wishes he could let it swallow him up. Despair is like tar sticking to his soul and he wants it to eat him whole. Merlin, bless him, said nothing about Harry and when he looked at Eggsy, it wasn't with pity like Eggsy feared but a hollow kind of anger. He’d closed himself in the cockpit and has been silent the whole time. But Eggsy isn’t, unfortunately, alone. At his side, Roxy is a solid weight where she has fallen asleep curled into him. Her breath is hot through the sleeve of his shirt and he hates it. Hates the warmth and the sympathy and how she couldn’t possibly understand. Her bond is still out there, her eyes still bright with the prospect of hope and anticipation. And his…

And Harry is…

Eggsy frowns and prods at his chest. 

It aches. Aches like his heart is trying to implode, like his lungs have been turned into lead, like his ribs have become steel, no longer flexing. His throat seizes in agony and his stomach is a ball of stone. 

But he feels something. 

“Roxy,” his voice comes out flat and hard even though his heart beats like a mad thing in his chest, like it’s trying to gallop its way free. At his shoulder, Roxy snuffles and curls closer into him. He nudges her with his elbow, “Roxy, wake up.” This time she sighs and tips her face upwards, her eyes squinted and red. 

“What’s wrong?” she murmurs as she sits up, rubbing at her eyelids. Her hair is a little mussed from leaning on his shoulder and suddenly, like a flip has been switched, Eggsy loves everything about her. He grabs her arms in his excitement. 

“Harry’s not dead,” he breathes, eyes wide and breathing sharp, “Rox, Harry’s not dead.” Roxy stares at him blankly for a split second, whisky-brown eyes huge and he grins into her shocked face. And then she’s up, a burst of flurried motion, dashing to the cockpit faster than Eggsy knew anyone could move. The cockpit door opens with a bang and a flood of Merlin’s surprised cursing floods the cabin. 

“Fucking hell, Roxy!” he growls but goes still at whatever expression she is wearing. Eggsy, on his feet though he can’t remember ever getting to them, wonders what her face looks like. It must be good to silence Merlin so quickly. 

“Merlin, Eggsy says Harry’s alive!” she bursts out and hearing the words spoken only solidifies the truth in his chest. 

Harry’s alive.

**

 

“Didn’t I tell you that if you ever almost died again, I’d kill you myself?” Eggsy says lazily as he traces the thin, reddish line of new scar tissue from the corner of Harry’s eye to his hairline. Soft curls still damp with sweat meets his fingers and he follows the path of it back down again. There is a soft, amused huff and the brief gleam of Harry’s smile in the darkness. 

“Will you?” he asks in that smooth, dark voice of his, a hand trailing down Eggsy’s bare back. He pretends to seriously consider the question as he pays Harry’s newest scar close attention. He loves the scar. He loves it because it means Harry is still alive to wear it. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” Eggsy finally murmurs, grinning when Harry gently pinches his bum as punishment.

“You do that,” he grumbles, good-natured and fond, “We’ll see how far you get.” Which, well, that’s fair. As good as Eggsy has gotten over the last couple months, he’ll never match Harry’s level of brutality and skill as a spy. So he doesn’t doubt that, despite still recovering from being shot in the damn head, Harry could easily take him. Eggsy grins into Harry’s neck. Hell, he’d let Harry do whatever he wanted to him at this point and he'd smile the whole time Harry was doing it. Warm, sticky fingers slide between his legs, pressing up behind his balls and he rolls his hips forward with a small, hitching moan. Fuck, he’d already come twice tonight but the way Harry’s fingers move on his body, he could probably come again. 

The good thing about coming twice already is that they can take their time dismantling each other. The first time is always hurried, desperate. Even after several months, Harry’s fingers and lips on Eggsy’s skin is like wildfire. But once the fire has burned itself to smoldering cinders, there is something bright and lovely in the aftermath. Something that lends itself to slow, searching touches, kisses that could go on for hours, breathing life into each other’s lungs. 

By the time he is astride Harry’s hips, thick cock deep inside of him and riding it with a slow flexing of his thighs, dawn is turning the sky grey behind the closed curtains and he can see the warm color of Harry’s eyes as they watch him move. 

His orgasm comes upon him like soft, calm waves on sun-warmed sand and he gasps his way through it. 

Immediately Harry has him on his back, strong hands at his hips and cock hard and insistent inside of him. Eggsy grins up at him, still fuzzy from the buzz of pleasure, admiring the hectic flush on Harry’s cheeks and how his hair is curled and sweaty. 

“Fuck, I love your stamina,” Eggsy breathes and cries out when Harry slams into him, merciless, brilliant. With shaking hands, he holds on for dear life and watches through the aftershocks as Harry comes apart. 

It is glorious to witness. 

When they have both caught their breath and Eggsy is dozing to the feeling of Harry’s hand stroking through his hair peacefully, the sun is coming up over Saville Row. It makes him laugh, thinking about what Merlin will say when they walk into HQ late and clearly sleep deprived. 

“We did it again, bruv,” he murmurs feeling like his entire body has been spun from sunlight. Harry makes a soft, questioning noise by his ear, “Fucked the night away, I mean.” A few months and they still can’t get enough of each other. He wonders if they will ever settle, get comfortable with each other, and fervently hopes not. Harry’s laugh is liquid and lovely in his ear. 

“I’m getting to old for this shit,” he mutters, curling his arm possessively around Eggsy’s waist and pulling him close. Eggsy is already half-asleep, even though he knows JB will be up in an hour to howl at the closed bedroom door until one of them gets up to take him out. He doesn’t care. 

“You’ll never be too old, luv,” he whispers and falls into dreams he won’t remember in the morning, except that Harry was in them too. 

**

Eggsy is fucked. 

Yes, there have been times over the years where he’s been in a tight spot and he was absolutely sure he couldn’t get out of it. But this time, he knows. He knows like he knew when Harry nearly lost his arm in an explosion sixteen years ago, when he took the knife to his back in Bolivia ten years ago and then again, three years ago, when Harry passed away in his sleep. Quiet. Peaceful in a way his life never was. Eggsy leans back against the wall of the warehouse, legs sprawled out in front of him, and laughs around the blood bubbling up from his lips. 

Three gunshots to the chest, a shattered femur, and a punctured lung. 

With no backup on the way. 

“They’re coming, Eggsy,” says the new Merlin, young and with less scary eyebrows. Just as Scottish, though, “You need to get out of there.” Eggsy drags a breath into his single functioning lung and grunts. 

“Not this time, Merlin,” he rasps, digging up the last three lighter grenades from his pocket and jiggling them in his hand, “Tell Roxy…tell her…” there’s quiet on the other end of the comms and then a small, upset sound. Fuck, he misses the old Merlin. 

“You can still—”

“I can’t,” he manages around the pain. His vision is already starting to fray and go dark. He welcomes it. With a shaking hand, he grabs off his glasses and tosses them across the room. The door to his right rattles and something slams against it, making it buckle. He has, at most, ten seconds before he’s got company. Eggsy pulls the lighter pins one by one and spills them at his feet. Fifty eight years he’s had and they’ve been a good fifty-eight years. But he’s gone three years without Harry and that is long enough.

Now is a good time.

“Alright, Harry,” he gasps as blood clogs his mouth and floods his lungs, “here I come. See you again soon.”

The door slams open, armed guards burst into the room and the grenades reach the end of their fuses. 

Eggsy dies with a smile on his lips and Harry’s name on his tongue. 

**

_The little cafe on the edge of the river is quiet at this time of day. The mid-afternoon sun is warm but not warm enough to counter the stiff, cold breeze and Antoine curls around his steaming cup of coffee, huddling into the warm down of his coat. It’s already spring but the weather hasn’t caught up yet, still leaving frost on the trees and grass blades in the mornings. They even had snow the other day, white piles still lingering in patches under bare trees. It was a strangely mild winter, for British Columbia, though it continues to cling well into April. Antoine watches steam curl around in front of his face from his cup, breathes in the richness of the brew and sighs as he leans back into his chair._

_His client is late._

_Antoine glances at his watch, gold, expensive, and then takes a sip of his coffee. Well, at least this place brews a spectacular cup of coffee, though the edge of a small river in the middle of the country is a strange place to find such a good cafe. He makes a note of it. Should his client fail to show, he can probably come back here._

_He tries to avoid places he meets clients for personal use. If the people he assassinates are traced back to their meeting place, he’d only be shooting himself in the foot._

_Antoine is taking another bracing sip when there is a gentle bump at his knee. Surprised, he looks down to find a lovely German Shepherd staring at him, golden brown eyes wistfully hopeful._

_“Oh, hello there,” he murmurs, reaching out to rub the offered head. The dog licks at his fingers, tail wagging happily as its given the attention it was clearly craving, “Do you come with a person?” he asks after a moment of watching the dog’s eyes close in bliss as Antoine buries his fingers in his thick ruff. There’s a blue collar around the dog’s neck and he glances at the tag. The name makes him laugh. What kind of name is Gary for a dog?_

_“Strange name,” he murmurs to himself, noting the phone number under the name. But he doesn’t need to even pull out his phone because a moment later, a young man comes running down the street, a leash in his hand and expression frantic. Antoine watches him with interest, notes when the young man sees his dog eliciting love from a total stranger and veers towards the cafe._

_“I’m so sorry!” he gasps as he pulls up in front of Antoine’s chair. Immediately Gary the dog abandons Antoine in favor of his owner, whining a little as he licks at the young man’s fingers, “I’m really sorry, we were at the park and I turned my head for one freaking second,” he is grinning at his dog, though, rubbing his cheeks and ears with obvious relief and affection._

_“It’s quite alright,” Antoine says softly, admiring the young man. He’s lovely, with dark bronze skin and short black hair, his fame tall and thin. Then he looks up from petting his dog and the world drops right out from under Antoine._

_“Oh,” the young man says, green eyes going wide with recognition. His smile is dazzling, “wow, hi.” Antoine, completely undone, stands unsteadily._

_“Hello,” he reached out, offers his hand to shake, “I’m Antoine.” The young man takes it, his palm warm and fingers strong. He’s a little too old to be so flustered but his heart is slamming against his ribs and he feels young and stupid._

_“I’m Alexis,” the young man says, eyes taking him in hungrily, like he’s been starving, famished. They stare at each other as their memories catch up, fill in, become complete. Alexis laughs suddenly, hand squeezing Antoine’s gently, “Fuck, how could I not realize I named my dog after you?” he goes breathless with laughter and Antoine finds himself joining in._

_He can’t even remember the last tim he laughed._

_“Would you like to join me, Alexis?” he asks finally, when he’s sure they’re getting strange looks from patrons at the other tables. Alexis grins a bright, beautiful grin and Gary the dog yips happily._

_“Yeah, I’d love to.”_

_New names, different bodies but their souls always know._

_Harry and Eggsy have found each other once again._

**Author's Note:**

> Ancient China (500's bc)- Harry=Chao-xing Eggsy=Hwei-ru  
> Victorian America (1850's)- Harry=Marcellus Eggsy=Louis  
> Israel (200's bc)- Harry=Dov Eggsy=Eli  
> Norway (700's ad)- Harry=Eydis Eggsy=Taras  
> America (during WWI)- Harry=Charles Eggsy=Edward  
> Rome (52 ad)- Harry=Cato Eggsy=Lucius  
> Ireland (400 ad)- Harry=Faolan Eggsy=Gael  
> British Columbia (2075)- Harry=Alexis Eggsy=Antoine
> 
> There were a couple more names in the story that didn't get their own section so Harry is also Tahatan, a Native American and I mention Harry again as Evariste, who is French.


End file.
